Dream
by akaiciel
Summary: Sidefic to my Senses Arc, but it's not necessary to read that to understand this. Max and Tyson talk in the middle of the night. Max POV, Tyson/Max fluffy lime.


A/N: This is a sidefic to my Senses Arc, a four-part Tyson/Max fic set in canon time or thereabouts. I posted this to the TakaoxMaxML about a month ago, then completely forgot about it until three days ago, when I started writing the third instalment of Senses, which is now complete and pending beta. However, for anyone who's read the arc (not necessary for reading this fic, but I'd love it if you did!) it's set after Taste and before Hearing (the piece in beta.)  
  
I still don't think this feels quite as Max as it should, and I'm not sure Tyson is as Tysonish as he could be, but I put it down to lack of sleep (whether on their part or mine, I still don't know...) Please though, let me know what you think, all feedback gratefully appreciated! *looks feedback-starved and desolate*  
  
Many thanks to **diamond dew** and **Ishshi**, who responded with some very lovely and detailed feedback when this was put on the ML!  
  


**DREAM**

  
  
I'm pretty sure I was dreaming at the time, but I have no idea of what. All I know is that whether they were good dreams or bad dreams, fantastic or mundane, they all drained away in a moment like water swirling down a plughole. Where before I'd been floating in unconsciousness, I was suddenly grounded, aware that my eyes were open behind their closed lids.   
  
My first instinct was - like most guys my age - to go back to sleep, and I probably would have before long if I hadn't heard a rustle next to me. It wasn't a sleep-driven shift or twitch, but a purposeful movement from someone trying to keep quiet. Intrigued, I opened my eyes.   
  
Tyson was sitting with his legs crossed and his hands on his ankles, watching me intently. When he realised that I was watching right back, an embarrassed grin spread tentatively across his face. "Hey," he said after a pause.   
  
"Hey," I returned, my voice scratchy and as full of sleep as a sponge. "Tyson, what are you doing up? It's got to be, what, three in the morning?"   
  
"Two-thirty. You know, it's late, you should go back to sleep."   
  
I raised my eyebrows. "Well I _would_, but I guess I just find it harder to sleep when I'm being stared at," I said pointedly.   
  
When he looked away without a word, I was instantly wracked with guilt. My tongue's a lot sharper when I need sleep, while Tyson's tiredness tends to beat down his defences, increasing his sensitivity levels. I always regret any sharp comments I make, but especially when they're directed at him. He'd looked nervous enough when he noticed that I was awake, and I'd just made it a lot worse for him.   
  
"Hey, I'm sorry," I said softly, sitting up. He just nodded, and I felt horrible. "So why _are_ you up, anyway?" I said, hoping I could smooth it over in conversation. "Is everything okay?"   
  
"Oh, I just couldn't sleep," he said vaguely. I opened my mouth to say something, but then he said, "I don't know," and I closed it again. "I guess I just… I didn't… You fell asleep," he finished in a rush, and I listened attentively; Tyson seems to feel less inhibited at night, and often says or does things in the dark that he wouldn't dream of doing or saying when the sun's up. "I just," he began again, struggling for words, "I don't know, I saw you asleep, and I was going to go to sleep as well, then I just… didn't want to." He tugged at a thread on the sheets. "I mean, why waste time being asleep when I could be watching you sleep instead?"   
  
I don't think he knows how much I appreciate it when he goes through the hassle of being completely honest with me. He's getting over it now, but for a long time he was certain that I'd laugh if he told me what he was really thinking deep down. The fact is that he couldn't have been more wrong. For every scrap of emotional information he gives me and no one else, my own feelings run a little bit deeper. Ironically enough, if I told him that, he'd probably feel too awkward to ever tell me anything again, but hey, that's life, and I have to compromise just like everyone else. At that moment, I tried to let him know what I felt by reaching out and touching his cheek with my hand. He looked up at me and grinned, almost shyly, I guess - though anyone who knows Tyson wouldn't believe me.   
  
"You shouldn't watch me sleep," I said with a smile, tracing figure eights over his cheek. "I bet I look horrible."   
  
But he shook his head, slowly so as not to dislodge my fingers. "No, you look like you."   
  
I really, _really_ love the way he gives such straightforward compliments without even realising it, stating them as a matter of fact and nothing more. I don't ever dispute what he says when he comes out with them; it's obvious that to him, these really are his true opinions and facts as he sees them, and to tell him he's misguided or wrong would either confuse or annoy him. He's not one of those people who understands arguing with compliments for the sake of modesty, and he wouldn't be impressed it if I started that little game.   
  
That's the thing: there are no games with Tyson. If you want to say something, just say it straight out and he'll appreciate it much more than any dancing around you do. So I whispered, "Thank you," and was treated to a full smile. I don't mean a grin - Tyson gives those out like rain - but a genuine smile right across his face that says, "I'm glad to be here with you."   
  
He took my hand in his and moved it from his face, leaning in to kiss me. It was a short, uncomplicated kiss, just perfect for the middle of the night. The hand Tyson wasn't holding drifted upwards, and I gently touched my fingertips to his neck.   
  
The moment was lost slightly when he snapped his head to one side and trapped my fingers between his jaw and collarbone, giggling helplessly and begging me to stop tickling him. Well, like my grandma always said, that's just like asking a river not to run! I mean, I didn't realise I _was_ tickling him at first, obviously, but why pass up a good opportunity? So I attacked him, he fought back, and we ended up in a full-scale pillow fight.   
  
It ended the way they always do: with a kiss. I got tired first - having been woken up to do this and all - so after my final whack to Tyson's head, I kissed him hard.   
  
"Hey, no fair playing dirty!" he mumbled, but he knows the rules as well as I do, and let the pillow drop before kissing me back.   
  
We lay side by side once again, and I was taken by surprise when I felt Tyson's hand on my chest. I love touching Tyson, and do it all the time, but for him to touch me first… let's just say it's rare, and very nice.   
  
He moved his hand across until he located my heart, then pressed down gently. We could both feel my heart beating erratically beneath his fingers, speeding up and slowing down as I caught my breath after the pillow fight. I said nothing, feeling warm, excited and keen to see where he was taking this.   
  
I found out a moment later when he flashed a grin at me and said, "You know, the Chief was right - you _are_ getting out of shape!"   
  
I burst out laughing, flicked his forehead and informed him that he'd pay for that.   
  
"Yeah?" he taunted, flicking me back. "Whatcha gonna do, lift weights at me?"   
  
"Oh, you'll see. You'll see." I tried to look mysterious, like I had some sort of revenge already plotted, but mysterious isn't something I do too well, and he laughed outright.   
  
"Just biding your time, right Max?"   
  
"That's right."   
  
In this whole time, he hadn't taken his hand away from my T-shirt. Figuring I should take advantage of this unusual mood, I murmured, "Come here," and stretched out an arm. He moved his hand lazily from my chest to my waist, and I turned so that we lay facing each other in a loose embrace.   
  
We didn't say anything more until the next morning. No, that's not quite true, we didn't say anything until Tyson's arm whacked me in the face and I let out a yell. Not that he woke up or anything; Tyson has the unfortunate combination of sleeping like a log and fidgeting like a puppy. Not that I'm complaining or anything, especially not the nights when he falls asleep first and I'm the one left sitting cross-legged on the bed watching him dream. After all, I wouldn't want him to wake up and see me now, would I?   



End file.
